


Insanity is a Hell of a Liquor

by orphan_account



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Blood and Gore, F/M, Fluff, Insanity, Murder, Smut, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 17:17:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3904462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>** CURRENTLY BEING RE-WRITTEN ** You're insane. Psychotic. Angry. Murderous. And who does everyone compare you to? Trevor Philips. And you don't like that very much, now do you? I guess you'll just have to prove just how much better you are than him, and be sure he knows it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insanity is a Hell of a Liquor

**Author's Note:**

> ** FIC CURRENTLY BEING RE-WRITTEN DUE TO CRINGE WORTHY WRITING AND JUST AM NOT SATISFIED WITH HOW THIS STARTS IN GENERAL **

You sat there, grinning ear to ear, eyes closed in bliss.  _'In. Out. In. And Out.'_   you thought to yourself as you tried to control your breathing...

Too much fun, was what it was. You tilted your head to the side, enjoying the popping your neck gave out. God, was this great. You loved your job. Killing, Robbery, Theft, Selling high-end weed to any poor, sad sap who needed a quick fix. You were made for this. Came out of the womb, screaming and kicking and in the back of your mind, you probably knew. You knew one day you'd do great things. Kill great people. You licked your lips and tasted the sweet, metallic fluid you knew oh so well. You slowly opened your eyes, observing every inch over your masterpiece. Chuckling low, you relaxed into the leather arm-chair you were seated in. Blood was everywhere, you were drenched in it. A dozen bodies scattered the room. Men with their intestines wrapped around lamp poles, hearts ripped out and brains oozing from their skulls. You loved this. 

You tightened your grip on the sledgehammer you had held in your bloody hands. 

"Trevor Philips..." you spoke slowly, almost a whisper. Disgust fell upon your face as you clenched your teeth. Never were you like that fucking hillbilly trash. He was sloppy, boring and plain idiotic. How DARE they compare you to him? Here you were, covered in blood. Only 19 years old. You were young, ambitions, smart and creative. You planned your heists and jobs carefully. You didn't need someone to do it for you. Yeah, you sometimes needed extra hands to blow brains out. That's where Felicia and Mickey came in. You snickered.

Mickey. Always all about her fucking self. Her "Husband" who bitched and bitched on how Mickey didn't love him, or her kids. That she should just leave. It was true, Mickey could fucking care less. All she wanted was something to talk about, get money, and be the most fake bitch in Los Santos. Always running around in her fucking Stilettos, pencil skirt, and long-sleeve button up shirts. What a cunt. But you still considered her your "friend", even if her rack was fake and she basically freeloaded in her fucking castle most days. Everyone apparently found her "desirable" and "professional". She'd slept with more men than she could count her money. Always 'wooing' them with her long black hair, reaching to the middle of her back and light green eyes.

Felicia, on the other hand. She was pretty cool. A little bit too "thug" for you, but she had respect. She was always there when you needed her. And you respected that. Although she did tend to get freaked out by you and call you a "Crazy ass white bitch" but hey, you thought it was hilarious. She always walked around in short shorts, a crop top, some kind of college football jacket (Which you though was hilarious seeing as she didn't even finish high school), and fully white Nike's. Those damned shoes. She constantly snapped at everyone who even accidentally scuffed up some dirt at them. Apparently they were a "Limited Edition" which meant they needed to be $145 bucks worth. You snickered at the fact she still lived with her mother in South Los Santos. She has shoulder length black hair and dark brown eyes. She always prides herself, saying, "I ain't one of these fake bitches runnin' round these streets sayin' they got real hair. I am ALL NATURAL, Baby." Knowing damn well she was lying straight through her teeth. She tended to do that to keep her appearance where she wanted or needed it.

Now, you, on the other hand. You liked to stay comfortable. And you admit, you were a bit of a slob. But the Sandy Shores desert required you to have a selective outfit. Of course, you didn't necessarily live in the little shithole called town, but you did live in the middle of only god know's where in your camper. So, that meant you needed to be light in clothing options. You kept your top "goodies" bandaged up. You didn't necessarily need to keep your meat sacks in their little pouches. Some comfy, loose sweats were always a choice, unless you decided to wear denim short shorts, that were torn to shit in the front legs, mind you. And always of course, your beloved black high-top All Stars. 

You brought your mind back to reality when you hear footsteps approaching the room you were in, grabbing the heavy pistol out of the waistband of your sweats and aiming it at the door. You waited patiently for whoever decided to barge in to your blood bath masterpiece you'd spent oh so much thought on. 

The footsteps got right to the door when a woman barged in. " **(y/n)** we gotta bounce, the cops is-" Felicia stood there, eyes wide and her mouth covered. You smirked, standing from the chair and walking towards her. "Do you like it? I figured maybe I'd prove how I'm better than the fucking meth head I've been compared to." You chuckled darkly, watching Felicia step out of the room and vomit over a railing from the platform outside the room. She wiped her mouth and caught her breathe, turning around. 

"What the fuck is this shit, **(y/n)**?!" She screamed at you, motioning into the room.

"That... is a room full of about a dozen bodies with blood everywhere and intestines wrapped around various furniture." You explained, as if nothing was out-of-the-ordinary.

She shook her head, turning around and going back where she came from. You followed, holding onto your pistol still and peaking around corners, looking for the cops.

"Where's the cops coming from?" You grunted, jogging through hallways looking for the nearest exit.

"All sides of the building. Mickey's got us covered outside in the East, she's already smoked some of them." She replied, staying close behind you with an assault SMG in her hands.

"Good. Which means we're going the correct way if we want as little heat as possible." You nod approvingly, "There's an exit up ahead. Get ready to fuck shit up, home girl."

You ran up to the double doors leading outside, forcing them open with a shove of your hip. There were at least 4 police vehicles, and about 7 policemen with their guns pointed at you. You ran behind a nearby crate, crouching down and waiting for the perfect moment to stand up and let these fuckers know who they're dealing with. You see Felicia behind a different crate across from you, occasionally halfway standing to get at some of the cops.

"You guys alright down there?! I'm trying to get some of 'em from up here." You hear Mickey say through the earpiece you have.

"Stop trying to hold a conversation with us and do your fucking job!" You scream, standing up to hit one officer in the neck and another in the head.

"Well e-fucking-xcuse me for wanting to know if you're injured or not, **(y/n)**." She spat back, taking out an officer getting a little too close to you and Felicia. 

You let out a low growl, walking out from behind the crate, shooting the last 4 officers left out of pure anger. "Let's get the fuck out of here before anymore of the pigs get here." You yell back to Felicia. Running up to the getaway car, you jump in the passenger seat as Felicia gets in the drivers seat and Mickey takes her sweet ass timing getting in the seat behind you.

"Oh, Mickey. You're here, care to fucking join us in leaving?" You spat at her, feeling the car engine start and the acceleration of the car leaving the area. Mickey just scoffed and shook her head, as you passed your bag of the loot back to her, along with Felicia's. You let out a large sigh of relief. Alright. That went pretty well. You honestly expected more cops when robbing a pretty decent sized bank.

Now, all that was left to do was distribute everyone's money - Safely - and get back to your drug deals back in Sandy Shores and maybe get some well needed R & R. Who knows, maybe you'd even go into Yellow Jack Inn for a few shots of whiskey.


End file.
